Hearts Collide
by yaoidarkness16
Summary: Wanted by the Templars she must blend and learn how to defend herself. How can she do it? Will the help of an arrogant Assassin help when she has something to teach him as well? Love works in mysterious ways….
1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

**_|Disclaimer|_**

******I do not own Assassin's Creed. It is owned by Ubisoft Montreal, Gameloft,****Patrice Désilets, ****Jade Raymond, and****Corey May. However, please be sure to follow, favorite, and review.**

**_|Key|_**

**Italics = thoughts, flashbacks, sarcasm, or emphasis on a word or phrase.**

**Bold = the meaning of an object or something of that nature, to express page numbers on documents or book and my author's notes.**

**Underline = to extremely emphasis a word or a phrase.**

**|Story: Hearts Collide|**

**|Chapter One: Pilot|**

A small shift of her wet wrists alerts her to the position her hands are in. Amara's gaze lazily drifts downwards to where her thin olive skinned limbs are bound by heavy shackles at her wrists in front of her lap and her ankles. She swallows dryly, her mouth tastes bitter and dirty as her tongue attempts to at least moisten her chaffing lips. Not much luck there. She's been shackled this way for days of travel and hasn't been able to move properly, eat appropriate amounts of food for a woman of her size, nor get a sufficient amount of water either.

"Keep moving!" The guard behind her commands.

The noise of discomfort she makes when she trips and falls to the sandy and hard ground is grainy and very unclear. Amara tries to clear her throat, but the soft and feeble sound of the rumbling scratches the back of her throat thus she stops. The guard angrily yanks her up by her wrist chains and thrusts her forward right behind Robert de Sable who is currently busy with a task.

"At last… one step closer."

The young woman's eyes— which are used to the dark by now— can see a man approaching them. She cowers when his attractive voice sounds from where he stands across the temple.

"Hold it Templars! You are not the only one with buisiness here," he approaches them.

Amara steps back figuring the only way to avoid getting killed by an Assassin is to get as far away as humanly possible. Frightened brown eyes drift to the floor as she feels her back press against a solid object.

"Ah! This explains my missing men. And what is it you want?" Sable says.

"Blood."

Altaïr by passes the first guard and attempts to strike Robert de Sable with his Hidden Blade in his bald head. However, he grasps him and overpowers him. Thus it keeps him from going for the kill.

"You know not what the things you mettle with Assassin. I spare you only, so you may return to your master and deliver a message: the Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now while he has the chance. Stay, and all of you die."

Then the young Assassin is thrown out and into the small opening. It causes Amara to look around frantically as two other Assassins come out from their hiding spots. She thrashes and fights to get away from the guards and Robert de Sable himself. As she continues to struggle to stay away from the clashing blades one of the men speaks to her.

"It's alright, we're here to rescue you," Malik tells her.

She's not reassured because she doesn't know who to trust. Amara is even more petrified when she watches the other Assassin get stabbed in the heart whilst he kills one of the guards. She tries to move and run as pathetically as she can, but she trips on the tight restraints and lands roughly on the ground. It causes her elbows to scrape and draw a bit of blood. She hisses from the pain and tries to regain the breath that's been knocked out of her. It seems like there's no hope, but her will to survive is strong.

"Nguh!" She grunts in frustration.

The woman begins an army crawl towards one of the dead guards. She tries her hardest to not gag or vomit what little contents are in her stomach; the man has passed his bowels and the smell in this dank temple is horrific. She fights on though as she drags her delicate body that's laden with the heavy shackles. They're chafing her already raw and swollen wrists and ankles. Amara's not giving up….

That's when her thin and long fingers brush the keys on the guard's belt. However, her hand drops to the cold hard ground, so she tries again and takes them off his belt loop. She first begins to unlock her wrists from their confines and then her ankles. She briefly rubs the swollen, blistering, and chaffing wrists before she stands. It's time to get the hell out of there….

"No Amara!" Malik screeches in pain as his arm is slashed.

She's already gone. And she's following the same escape Altaïr takes earlier, though she's in control of how she lands. Amara can feel this wash of adrenaline coursing through her as she sprints down the crowded streets. She's pushing through people and trying to get away the fastest she possibly can. Of course, they get angry and push back… they're not going to take that from a woman half their size.

"Move! Please! Leave me alone!" She says softly in fear.

She sees in her peripherals that many of the guards around the area at their post notice her and are beginning their chase. It, of course, makes her push her limits even farther, running, falling a few times, and eventually come across a bridge over the main river… aka the only river in this city.

Amara looks back wondering if she has no other choice. She weighs her options briefly. Then she gulps knowing that she doesn't even have options and takes a leap of faith into the water below. She forms her hands together and straightens her underfed body as she dives into the river.

"Where did she go?" The guard questions.

"I don't see her any more."

"Dammit, she got away."

The young woman then sinks back into the water beginning to swim away with a hopeful smirk on her face. She's escaped and now she gets to have another chance at freedom. She makes it to the edge where small and not that impressive waves are lapping at the shoreline and is once again army crawling it with all of her tired, aching, and pushing the limits muscles. Speaking of her muscles, they're shaking, quivering, and are about to give out. She pulls herself in a nearby haystack and immediately falls into a deep sleep….

**.. ..**

**.. ..**

The young woman looks into her reflection in the bowl of water that's extracted from the river she swam in last night. She looks at the face looking back at her: an oval visage; light olive complexion; almond-shaped and brown eyes which are sometimes mistaken as doe-eyes; and smooth, long, straight dark brown hair that has two long braids wrapping around the back of her head making it look as if it is a crown. Her height is about 5'5. She has a slim, slightly athletic physique… on normal conditions, but not these days for the fact that she hasn't eaten properly in quite some time. So, she's too tiny for anyone's liking. Unfortunately, Amara has no other choice, but to cover her pretty face in order to remain inconspicuous and keep her safety and freedom.

The brown wrap covers the lower half of her face, decorates her slim shoulders, falls on her front to the left side, and the other end of the wrap is at the back on her right side. She adorns a purple dress that's thick in the shoulders, crosses over each other and creates a 'V' until it reaches the small leaf-like belt at her waist that is now loose, and it sweeps at her feet. She wears dark brown sandals.

She sighs as she swiftly weaves her way undetected throughout the crowd. She must find what she's looking for: a job. A means to acquire food and continue to sustain herself. She already feels as if it's going to be a bitch and a half to do so…. She finds many women outside a building. Amara goes over there and asks if the place is hiring.

"No, now get lost," the bitter man says.

She flushes in embarrassment and is grateful that her face is covered, so no one can see it in this state. She exits swiftly to try and rid herself of the horrible feeling coursing through her. The young woman is wandering around, her hope is sinking slowly, and ways of continuing her survival are becoming fewer and fewer. She looks at all the buildings despairingly as they all have workers and no need for a lady laborer. Eventually, the young woman comes across a sign that a man just puts up and says 'HIRING'. She stumbles in holding onto the wall for a bit of support, her muscles are still weak.

"Hello…," she says, "I am applying for the job… of a basket weaver."

Brown almond shaped eyes look around to see a bunch of older and very few younger women weaving large straw baskets. Unknown to her, these poor women have lost their husbands and have to provide for themselves. She swallows roughly before straightening up trying to seem like she's in _at least_ decent condition.

"You're in luck, we've just had an opening. Start over there," he commands.

She sits in the open seat beside her fellow basket weavers; her head is kept down, her eyes are on the work at hand, and she tries to ignore the pain in her stomach that tells her that she's aching for something to consume. She bites her lower lip in frustration.

"What's your name, hon?" One of the more elderly women asks.

"A—" she catches herself seeing as she can't tell her real name for fear of being ratted out, "Amina…."

"Well, Amina, mine's Bahija," she says scratching her large and sagging fanny without a care much to the disgust on Amara's hidden face. "Now, if you don't mind getting your scrawny ass up and fetching some more grass."

Amara makes a face before she stands.

_This is so I can eat. This is so I can eat. This is so I can eat_, she thinks over and over in her head as she heads into the market with the required money.

She walks with the small purse of money close to her side. It's a busy street, there's many poor people, and they would love to make some easy money from a rather thin and helpless girl. Soon enough though, she comes across a dealer that sells the good quality straw. She pays for it, and leaves the vender.

"Thank you," she says softly before walking away.

Her original destination is back to the basket weaving business, but she can't resist. She has money left over in the small purse that doesn't belong to her and she can see clearly the hot and fresh bread another dealer is selling. It's easy to spend money that isn't yours.

"Hot bread! Fresh! Over here!" He loudly shouts.

As if she's possessed, Amara glides over to the stand. She pays for some…, well a lot actually, and begins to dig in. She's devouring it rather quickly, stuffing more into her own purse when the dealer is looking the other way, and is getting a little sloppy with her actions.

It doesn't go unnoticed by a certain Assassin who's buying bread as well. A somewhat amused expression is on Altaïr's face at the young woman as he continues to stare at her. That's when Amara figures out she has a set of eyes on her.

"What?" She says softly barely opening her mouth as she finishes her swallow and a small smirk is on his face. She then says with a little more sarcasm and authority in her voice. "You the bread police?"

He doesn't say anything as she moves on from the bread vender; he didn't really expect that from her. There's a small pause of silence and Amara brushes past him whispering 'awkward'. Plus, she needs to get out of there because she's stolen some bread…. And nobody takes thievery lightly.

Altaïr eyes linger on the skinny little woman's retreating form because he wonders if he's seen her before. However, he doesn't know. Her wrap that goes around her face except her eyes makes it incredibly difficult to recognize someone. Though, he can't shake the feeling as he watches her small and rather delicate form move away and slip into the crowd.

"You!" The vender shouts at him. "You little thief! You've stolen my bread! For that, you shall pay!"

Guards, of course, swarm him…. Well, it seems that without really even trying Amara's gotten the best of him simply for the fact that he isn't paying attention. He feels foolish as he escapes swiftly….

**Author's Note: So, does this fic interest anyone? From what little you've seen of Amara do you like her?**

******Αμάρα Ζηναιδα = Amara ****Zinaida. Amara = eternal one. ****Zinaida = belonging to Zeus. Therefore her entire name in English is: the eternal one belonging to Zeus.**

**************I like her name and it kind of fits what the theme is here. Sort of. :—) Well, bye-bye.**


	2. Running

**|Chapter Two— Running|**

"Whoa! Whoa! Ahhh!"

Amara is easily lifted by the husky owner, carried out of the basket weaving shop, and thrown like a rag doll onto the hard dusty ground. He throws the bag at her as people back away from the scene.

"And don't ever come back here or I will kill you!" The owner says angrily.

He then slams the door. She picks herself up, grabs her bag, and regrets nothing. She then begins to walk on trying to remain discreet and hide the slight limp in her walk. Poor Amara is so frail that the landing has hurt her hip. Unfortunately, she always seems to be attracted to trouble because in the next moment an arm winds around her neck from behind.

"Don't move, Assassin! I am taking this woman hostage! Try and harm me and I will kill her!"

Amara sighs in annoyance until she looks up and her eyes widen in suprise. She recognizes the assassin! She saw him at the bread stand earlier today, he's guy she indirectly framed for stealing the bread. He was so close to her at the time she could recall him. Amara thinks her chances of survival are very slim now. Why would Altaïr save her when she's caused him trouble?

"I mean it!" The man says. "I will not die!"

He presses his small and old knife harder against her throat. It draws a small line of blood. Amara whimpers… she's had enough. She, like he captor, doesn't wish to die. So, the only logical thing she could think to do is to bite down. Hard. The man cries out in pain and pushes her away from him.

"Oof," she exclaims as she ploughs into Altaïr.

"Guards! Guards! I've been injured!" The once captor shouts.

It grabs the attention of the guards around them, who were a _lovely_ discussion about the weather. Amara's eyes widen and Altaïr resists rolling his.

"That's you! There!" One of them says.

"Follow me," Altaïr says.

She follows him seeing as she doesn't have any other options. She tries her best to keep up with him as they run, but she's out of shape. Amara figures it can't be too far before they lose 'em. She's so horribly wrong…. Altaïr comes to a halting stop causing Amara to yet again run into him. It seems as if they've been cornered. All sides are buildings without ladders and the entrance there is being filled with many guards. There's only one option.

"Take my hand, we're climbing," he says without a trace of kidding.

"What?" She says through pants and desperate attempts to regain her breath whilst looking at him like he's crazy.

"Take my hand, we don't have another choice," he says already beginning to climb. "Do you trust me?"

She looks over her shoulder and sees that the guards are almost there to kill them. They're mere feet away…. Amara turns back towards him and nods her head lightly. She grasps his hand. The two of them begin to climb; he has her go first having an inkling that she could possibly drop at any second. Amara got pretty winded pretty quickly.

"Hurry up," Altaïr tells her.

Rocks begin to pelt him on the back. It's not good; if it keeps it could hitting him like this it could cause him to fall. But, of course, Amara doesn't take kindly to this. It's not like she wants to die or something….

"Oh be quiet, if you keep distracting me I'm going to go even slower," she huffs out at him through ragged pants for breath.

"If you go any slower you'll be going backwards," he retorts.

"Now, stop talking, I need to concentrate," she says panting harshly as she makes a reach onto a window. "Are we almost there yet?"

"No."

Amara just groans in annoyance as her muscles begin to shake. Altaïr is not amused. At this point, he tosses the gentlemanly approach to the wind; he places a hand on the back of her thigh and butt for leverage to push hard and get her to hurry up. Amara doesn't like that. Her eyes widen, her eyebrows rise high up on her forehead, and her nose scrunches up.

"What are you doing?!" She says angrily.

"Making you hurry up," he says gruffly.

The guards begin to climb the wall too, trying to catch them. So, Altaïr pushes harder making her upset, but soon enough her trembling fingers grasp the top of the roof. She climbs up with a loud grunt. Then Amara turns around to help pull him up, but when she reaches for Altaïr's hand a rock hits the other. He begins to fall much to both of their horror. Amara won't let that happen, she grasps his falling hand with both hands and puts all of her weight into falling backwards to pull him up. Eventually, Altaïr gets up there, but the downside is that Amara is falling backwards off of the roof.

"Ahh!" She screams as he grasps her ankle.

The two of them fall to the other side…. She screams the entire way down and he just tries to find a way to crash safely. There's none. They go through a wooden roof: Amara hits a wooden platform before rolling into a haystack and Altaïr breaks through several support beams before landing in the haystack as well. The young man sits up roughly with a groan of pain and emerges from the grainy aged grass. He winces as the young woman sits up with a whimper.

"Are you okay?" He asks the standard question having trouble standing.

She tries to manage a glare at him but her body is aching so badly. She tries to pull herself up, but her arms and legs fail her.

She answers sarcastically, "Other than the muscle pains, the splinters, and the fact that I have to run from guards and hurt myself…, I'm dandy."

When she turns to use her hands to help her stand, she feels her face and discovers that her brown wrap is gone. Then she turns around to search for it in panic. Amara gasps when she feels a cold metal against her throat. She stumbles up against the wall in fear and Altaïr walks forward and continues to press the sword against her thin and trembling neck.

"You're the woman who was in that tomb. Why were you held captive by Robert de Sable himself? Why are you so important that he couldn't let you out of his sight?"

"It's long story," she says and her voice quivers and her legs feel like jelly.

"Then start talking," he says whilst pressing the metal against her throat.

She swallows thickly and Altaïr can see that her limbs are violently shaking. He knows that she's been through scarier experiences since she's been held captive by Robert de Sable than his blade at her neck. However, with todays _excitement_, physical exercise that goes beyond her weakened muscles, and the insane fall has caused her to reach her limitations. Amara whimpers softly before she sinks to the floor and breathing heavily.

Altaïr lowers his weapon and sighs deeply at this grievance. He sheathes his weapon, walks over to her, and picks her up bridal style. Then he hears a few guards outside of the abandoned building.

"What was that sound?"

"I don't know, let's go and check," the other says.

With that Altaïr exits the building and looks around. Then the guards from earlier discover him and Amara. It further annoys the Assassin… just another grievance to interrupt his original mission to kill one of the nine.

"There he is!" One of the guards shout.

Altaïr begins to run… again. He can't exactly fight with a young woman in his arms that's, right now, about as useless as a sack of potatoes. Eventually, as his legs are getting tired he sees a small stable of horses. He lifts Amara up there first and then mounts the animal.

"Don't think you're getting out of telling me what I want to know," he says as he swings a leg over the thoroughbred.

"Well then…," she mumbles sarcastically as she leans against Altaïr, "giddy up."

The two ride off….

**.. ..**

**.. ..**

Sun paints the back of her eyelids orange. The light causes Amara to open her crusty doe eyes and whine in protest. She rolls over stiffly trying to block out the blazing sun that's coming through the window and catch a few more 'Z's. However, a rough voice clears his throat.

"Rough night?" He asks.

She mumbles softly, "Rough four weeks."

She straightens up and tries to work through the muscle aches. She doesn't recognize the man behind the desk. He first thought is: 'where's the man who brought me here?' Aka, Amara wants to know where Altaïr is.

She attempts to stand, her muscle aches causes her drop to her knees, and she gets it on the next try. She's glad to know that she's still in her clothes and it doesn't look like she's been disturbed in her sleep.

"What's wrong, you look like you're in some pretty bad shape?" He says looking deadly serious.

"I'm weak, I'm slow, and do you have any idea what it's like to run in sandals? I have blisters the size of Robert de Sable's bald head," she says using the wall for support as she tries to walk. "Ugh, what I wouldn't give for a hot and relaxing bath right now."

Malik rolls his eyes at her whining and general complaining. And much to her elation and gratitude, he lets her use his bathroom and, of course, bathtub. It's not out of the kindness of his heart, but to get her to stop talking about it and complaining. She scoots the metal tub closer to the fire place, heats up the water over the flames, and fills the tub. Soon, she strips off her garments a little shakily. It sort of feels like peeling off skin since she's been filthy for quite some time. She shivers in delight as she sinks into the mildly scalding water. She pours a fair amount of bubbles in, creating a foamy mess. Perfect. It's as if she's made for this tub.

"The water warm?" A voice says

Her tranquil small slice of heaven cracks at the seams completely at the intruder's voice. It seems Altaïr has snuck in without so much as a sound and is casually leaning up against the door frame with his arms crossed. He's somewhat amused at the expression on her face and her reaction.

"Ugh," she scoffs, grabs a bar of soap, and throws it at his head. "Get out, lurker!"

The soap smacks him right between the eyes before it lands on the floor. His expression doesn't change as he just blinks at the young woman. She's pulling the bubbly suds higher up her body as she tries to get them to cover her body.

"Ouch," he says dully. "So…, what are you doing in Malik's bathtub?"

"Why aren't you?" She counters with a light sarcastic bite to it.

He shrugs before sitting at the edge of the bureau's counter top. There's a short pause between them and Amara feels increasingly more uncomfortable. Altaïr isn't saying anything at the moment, she's naked and in a sudsy bathtub, and he's— surprisingly to her— is looking at her face.

"What's your name?"

"You know," she begins and scrubs starts scrubbing her arms with the suds seeing as he's not leaving, "when asking somebody for their name, it's required you give your name first."

"Altaïr."

"Amara."

She gives a small smile and it clear a little bit of the awkwardness. However, it still is awkward since she's still naked in a bathtub. A long and exaggerated sigh escapes her lips to signal she's a little uncomfortable and she's about to say something.

"Well, if you don't mind leaving me alone, I would love to continue my bath in privacy. You know what they say, there's a lot of things that suck in this world, but bubble baths ain't one of them," she says.

Right in the middle of her little 'speech' Altaïr disappears. She lets out a small sigh before sinking further into the relaxing bathtub. It seems like things are looking up for her….

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to update, but I hope all of you are happy about this. I certainly enjoyed writing this chapter. :—) ****I sincerely hope all of you enjoy, follow, favorite, and review this fic. :—D**


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